My grandma (or abuela, in Spanish) loves decorative clocks, turquoise jewelry, and the Dallas Cowboys. (In fact, she likes the football team so much that, along with recurring appearances of navy blue and star-patterned articles in her wardrobe, she goes by the name Dallas.) She is a longtime fan of Elvis Presley and loves to watch soap operas (her “soaps”). Although in a limited capacity, she knows how to use her cell phone and she loves to send creatively capitalized text messages, accompanied by strings of emojis and GIFs.
My point is, there are a million things I could list about her before mentioning that she’s an immigrant, a naturalized citizen. That, as a child in the 1950s, she left Mexico for the United States alongside her mother and two brothers.
The U.S. government may only understand my abuela based on her citizenship status, but I know about the parts of her that are much more significant than where she was or wasn’t born. From my first memories of her, I knew her as a person who took care of me. Who picked my sister and I up from school, brought us to the park to play, and took us to shop with her at the mall. It took me a long time to realize that she spoke a different language. Years passed before I understood that she spoke English with an accent, even if I never really heard it myself. All of that was just wrapped up in the title of “abuela.”
Getting to know her as an immigrant was different. In my teenage years, after immigration became a fiery national debate during the 2016 election, I started asking more questions. In response, I would hear stories about her childhood, pre- and post-immigrating. The novelty of acts as simple as drinking refreshing water in the U.S. Her experiences in American schooling, navigating both academics and a tremendous language barrier without support. (She always tells me that the only class she could fully enjoy and participate in was physical education.)
There was also fear. Just months ago, as we watched the news about Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) targeting immigrants, she told me another childhood story: After hearing an unexpected knock at the door, my abuela and her siblings had hidden under the bed, thinking immigration officials were going to take them away.
Knowing her growing up, I never would’ve known that she struggled with so much. To me, she always seemed smart in the ways that mattered. As long as I knew her, she was very practiced in caring about other people, in easily giving what had not always come easily to her in life.
One of the first things I think when I think about her is her generosity. When she picked my sister and I up from elementary school, she would bring candy. Not just for my sister and I, but also to give to the other kids who were getting picked up. She always seems to want moments of connection, however brief and temporary, with other people. In random public places, I’ve watched her start conversations and make fast friendships, speak Spanish to janitorial staff at restaurants, dance in public with someone she just met… the list goes on. The ultimate gift that my abuela has given me is in how she leads by example. I keep her in mind whenever I have to force myself out of bed in the morning, deciding that I need to go out into my community rather than staying in.
Maybe that’s why it’s been so jarring to hear how the current administration refers to immigrants as supposedly violent, criminal types who have forged their lives by “stealing” from this country. When I hear that word, “immigrant,” I think of someone like my abuela — someone who has worked so hard for the life they have, and who continues to give back and add so much value to this country and those who live in it.
ICE’s operations nationwide fly in the face of what so many know about the immigrants in their communities. There are so many immigrants — many of whom only differ from my abuela due to their lack of naturalized status — who are being ripped from their families and the lives they’ve built piece by piece. (Notably, some don’t differ from her at all. There have been numerous reports of ICE detaining documented people, as well as allegations that ICE is engaging in racial profiling, which the Department of Homeland Security claimed are false.) These are people who give love and care and safety. Whatever this administration says, for thousands upon thousands who have been abducted, attacked, or forced to live in fear, their only real collective crime is not being born in the right place.
Even now, I’m lucky to have the opportunity to see my abuela in person, to bring her flowers and eat dinner with her. Families who have lost their loved ones to detention and deportation aren’t so lucky. And these losses aren’t just for families, or even entire communities, to bear. What so many in this country don’t seem to realize is that these are tremendous losses for the U.S. as a whole, dismissing all of the life experiences, perspectives, and humanity that immigrants have to offer.